Moving On
by SorainaSkye
Summary: Marlene POV - You never really had him, and he'll never be happy unless you let him move on. Abstract C/A, Anti CloTi


Moving On

You've been trying really hard. I know, I do. I've been here the whole time after all- watching you try. It's been years, and still I think I'm the only one besides him that notices what you're trying to do. When I was younger, I didn't understand.

I'm older now, and only more confused.

Time doesn't heal everything. Sometimes it only makes it worse. Especially for people like him- who're never really _there_ anymore, and haven't been for a long time. The others say its only memories, holding him back- but they don't see you like I do. I see you touch him, reach out to him, speak to him, as no others seem to, and I cannot help but wonder.

Why do you do this to him? Why touch him when it only brings pain? Why speak to him when it only makes it worse? He wants to _move on_... but he can't unless you let him.

So much has happened, and though I see you everyday, the memories of when we met fade. Memories are strange things. I don't remember the mother who gave birth to me, or the father that died years ago. I have a father, and I love him. In many ways, you were my mother, and I loved you. I still love you, but I hate what you do to _him_.

Hasn't he suffered enough?

He's been trying too. I know- I've been here. He's been trying so hard. Sometimes I tried to keep him with you, but now I see just how much that hurts him. You get angry. You try not to, but you do. You speak to him, and your voice is not what I had accustomed it to be- not kind or warm.

I think all of us, in one way or another, are broken beyond repair. Especially him.

You too, are broken more than most could comprehend. But still, he was barely whole to begin with, and saving the world hardly filled that void. Lying in this place, listening to your voice, has only made it worse.

He can hardly move anymore.

You know that- I know you do. But you act like he can, you act like any day he will sit up and your voice will heal him, as you thought it would. But don't you see? Don't you get it? He's been trying so hard...but he'll never be okay unless you let him go.

Days have passed, and you're still here. You speak to him, touch him, and he does not shy away. He's...confused, I think. Confused, and perhaps, a little afraid. You talk to him, but he doesn't hear you, anymore than he hears any of us. And you're still trying.

Why can't you stop? This is only hurting you both.

The others are angry. I can't really blame them. To them, he is weak. To them, he is giving up, as you refuse to let him go. They don't see it, but they see that he is dying.

I can't be angry with him, because I have seen just how hard he's tried. They don't see- _you_ don't see – what it's done to him. You don't understand the meaning of a broken heart. It's odd, seeing as you have one. But we don't always understand what we have, do we?

No, I can't hate him.

But sometimes I wonder if you do. I know you loved him, once. But as I watch you, kneel over him and touch his forehead –he, who is in such a weakened state that he can't even flinch away from you –I wonder if perhaps you've grown to hate him. But now I realize, as I stare down at you, at the others clustered around him I realize- that your love has merely become twisted, because you are broken. We're all broken and I realize- perhaps they- and even I –am envious of him. Because he has a chance to line his pieces up. Perhaps one day we too will find that- but if the only way to get there is to become as shattered as he is, than I'd rather not know.

His breathing is shallow, and the choice is yours.

I watch you as you come to this realization- the knowledge that though he may slip from your grasp either way, that it is up to you whether it will make him truly happy.

The others don't look at you- and I realize that they can't. Only I can look at you, as the tears prick your eyes and fall, softly, soundlessly. You can see the choice, but can you do it? He can never move on unless you let him go, and I wonder if you have the strength anymore.

To me, you've been dead for so long.

But the sunlight shifts through the clouds in the window, and you turn toward to, reveling for a moment. And you smile. And for the first time, the others can see you. And I can see, truly, the woman I once thought of as 'mother'. Your smile grows, and you whisper, softly. I think you're saying that you're sorry.

I hear a laugh on the air- tinkling and bright, and I know you are forgiven.

You nod, and turn to him, voice soft- knowing that this time, he will hear you.

"It's all right," you whisper. "You can go now." He turns toward you, eyes wide and unbelieving as he hears your voice. His eyes dart to the door, and back. He swallows.

"It's okay," And you cry then, a little. And I cannot blame you for crying now, for letting go of what you held onto for so long. "Cloud, it's okay. You can go now."

He stares at you, and suddenly he is reaching up with his hand, wiping at a tear. You shake your head, chuckling. "I know," You whisper. "I'll be fine."

_(Lovely)_

He nods, once, and for a moment I see a ghost of a smile upon his lips. His eyes flicker to each of us, and he stands, perhaps a little shakily. It occurs to the others then that he is saying goodbye. Some of them cry, and a part of me cries with them. The selfish part, the cowardly part. But I smile at him, as he passes. He walks out the door, straightening, getting stronger as he goes. We stay back, listening to his footsteps as he walks out on all that was holding him back.

It'll be alright. You never really had him. And now you've finally let him go.

We hear the purr of his bike for a moment, and then he is gone. There is a look on the other's faces- and you and I both come to the conclusion that maybe they finally understand. And we all know that we will never see him again. You stand, and go to the window. I know you are watching him fade into the distance, watching with the part of you that wishes he would come back. I walk over to you, and grab your hand. You look down at me, grateful.

"Thank you Marlene," You whisper. You pause a little, and another tear falls. "I've been stupid and cowardly, haven't I?" I smile a little, and say nothing. You shake your head. "It's alright though, I apologized to the one that mattered, didn't I?"

I nod and lean against you. I whisper the words that hadn't left my lips in more time than I could count. "I love you, like my mother."

You smile and laugh a little, tousling my hair. And for a moment we are back in time- in a place where our smiles never seemed to end, and I looked at you and Cloud through the eyes of a little girl, asking why you couldn't feel the flower-lady.

"I love you too, like my daughter," you whisper, and tears fall again. And I realize that they are tears for me, for Cloud, and for the flower that was killed before her time. You cry for the regrets for all you have done, and the times you were not there for me.

I cry with you. I cry for you, for Cloud, and for the other woman, the flower that in other ways was my mother, as you had been. I cried for what we had lost.

"He's happy now, isn't he?"

"Yes," I whisper. "Yes, Tifa, he's happy now."

And together, we cry with happiness. For after all, one day, all of us will be together again- happily.


End file.
